


No One’s Slave

by calliope_calling



Series: Teresa and James Extended Scenes [2]
Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliope_calling/pseuds/calliope_calling
Summary: James tries to figure out Teresa's escape plan, and their relationship comes to a head.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza & James Valdez, Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Series: Teresa and James Extended Scenes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535219
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	No One’s Slave

**Author's Note:**

> The next in my series of extended scenes focusing on Teresa's and James's relationship and imagining that it had gotten, ahem, more explicit way earlier (while still remaining as much as possible in-character).
> 
> Would love feedback :) To be completely honest, I edited this form the first version I posted. I hope that's okay and not breaking fanfic etiquette. After a few weeks of letting it sit I just realized I didn't really like parts of it.
> 
> Also you have to imagine here I guess that off-camera, he'd already ended things with Kim. My previous version of this included a conclusion to that arc with her but it just felt like it bogged down this piece.

Season 1, Episode 10

_I’m not going to become like you. … It’s never going to end._

It had been a long week and James was heavy. Teresa was in the passenger seat of the car and they were driving in a tense silence back to the club, where Camila was waiting for them. James hardly knew himself; he’d just lied to Camila to cover for Teresa. He had no idea where she’d gone and what she’d done with the maid. Earlier that week James had felt connected to her, when she’d kissed him in his car, but that was before the Terris situation. Before Teresa had had to threaten a maid and kill a man. Since then she’d gone back behind her safe wall. He almost wondered whether he’d imagined the kiss; she had made no mention of it in the days since, and had given no indication that there was anything at all between them. Anyway, that was fine (he told himself); he wasn’t prepared to upset his life for a strange, private woman with no plans to stick around.

But when James had covered for Teresa just now and told Camila the maid was dead, Teresa had stared wide-eyed at him, with incredulity and a look of dawning recognition. _Why didn’t you tell her?_ she’d asked, and he hadn’t been able to answer. Why hadn’t he? Certainly it was partly because he wanted to protect her from Camila's wrath. But it was also partly because he hadn’t wanted to lose her. He’d wanted her to come back, and for things to stay how they had been.

Teresa knew, even without his answer. The look on her face told him that. But instead of letting his own guard down, he’d covered up by condescending to her: _You just don't get it, do you_.

His frustration was genuine. More than anything he just wanted her to figure out the way things worked so that she could stay. If she persisted in trying to do things her own way, against Camila’s wishes, she’d get herself killed. One way or another. Much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t bear that thought.

Instead of reacting to his bullying, Teresa had remained still, and blinked, and said simply, _I’m not going to become like you_. And she was right. As they drove back in silence James thought about her strength, her calmness, her inner convictions that directed everything she did. James had never trusted himself that way. That was why he was such a loyal number two. He didn’t have to trust himself. He just had to trust Camila. He glanced over at Teresa and thought to himself, _I could trust her too_.

“Teresa.”

She looked over at him, her jaw set. He fleetingly imagined kissing that jaw, lightly, all the way to the crease of her throat and down her neck, before quickly banishing the thought.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you came back.”

She looked at him and met his eyes. Slowly, she let her gaze drift down from his eyes to his lips, jaw, neck, and back up. Or did he imagine that? “I had no choice.”

“Teresa. If you want out, you can go. I won’t stop you.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I _know_ that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.” He glanced over at her. “I don’t know what you’re doing exactly, but I know you want out. You’ve been up to something. Keeping secrets. You’re making an escape plan.”

She was quiet for several heartbeats. Finally she nodded quietly. “You going to tell Camila?”

“No.” He sighed, tapping the steering wheel with agitation. “Look. I can’t help you. But I’ll turn the other way. Just tell me what you’re up to so I can be prepared.”

Teresa gazed at him again with that penetrating stare and shadow of a smile. He was slightly discomfited under her gaze.

“Drive,” she commanded. He clenched his jaw and drove.

***

He had dropped her off at the warehouse and after a long drive in stubborn silence and was just finishing a drive-through milkshake when his phone rang.

“Hello,” he answered, distracted.

“James.” It was Camila. “Where are you? I told you to come back to the club.”

“I’m on my way. I just dropped off Teresa at the warehouse.”

“Where was she all day?” James wasn’t sure what to say. “James. Is there something I should know?”

He sighed and rubbed his face. “I have no idea where she was. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“But the maid is dead?”

“The maid is dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I killed her myself.” James was glad she could not look him in the eyes when he said that.

“Good. Now I want you to go and find out what Teresa is up to. Get her to confide in you. As I said, I don’t care what it takes. I don’t trust her. She’s valuable to Epifanio and I cannot afford to lose her. Go to her now.”

***

James drove silently back to the warehouse, listening only to the sound of his own tight breathing and the echos of Teresa's words from earlier. _I’m not going to become like you._ He had blanched when she said it, but now he started to feel the fury rise in his chest. His breath became more shallow as he twitched his mouth and clenched his jaw. Who did she think she was? He just did his job—no more, no less.

Teresa was sleeping when he got there. It was early still—just past 8—and the rest of her cage was empty, most of the girls probably still out on runs or getting food. James knew she was exhausted. He still didn’t know what she’d been doing the last few days, but it couldn’t have been restful. He sat still and watched her sleep. She looked different in sleep, softer and safer. Her chest rose and fell, her exposed collarbone catching the light from the window on every rise. He was never quite sure what to make of Teresa, or what she made of him, but watching her sleep he felt almost tender towards her. He became aware again of the familiar catch in his throat.

His gaze slowly wandered down the curves of her body and he allowed himself to feel the unbidden warmth blooming as he half-imagined stroking her thigh, gently grasping her hip, firmly lifting her towards and under him. A quick flick of his head and he softly cleared his throat, drifting his gaze back to her face, where he saw with a start that her eyes were open and she was staring at him, unmoving, her expression impenetrable. She blinked. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I’ve just been here a minute. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What do you want?”

“Come with me.”

“No.”

“Teresa, you have to come with me. I have to show you something.”

She blinked again and turned over on her cot, her back to him. He felt a heat rising in his chest and he strode to the cot, gripping her arm to pull her up and out of bed. “Trust me,” he hissed.

“Get your hands off me,” she growled and she yanked away with all the force of her small body, causing him to stumble and almost fall on top of her. _Half as big as a minute_ , he thought to himself ruefully as he caught his balance. He was about to surrender and apologize when he caught the glint in her eye that told him she _wanted_ to fight, she _wanted_ to have something to push back on. He was dimly aware of eyes on them in the cage but he didn’t care.

He gripped her again, this time by both wrists, pressing them both hard into the mattress and, as she pushed and struggled against him, he pulled her up to standing and pinned her arms behind her, his arms locking her in a sort of tight embrace. The heat of her body pressed into him and her rapid breath warmed his throat as he peered down at her. “Two can play at this game,” he said, “but I’ll win it.” He flicked his head, gesturing towards the door. “Let’s go.” She relaxed her body long enough for him to briefly lower his guard and she instantly shook free, glaring at him. But she followed him as he stalked out the door.

***

They drove in silence, James in his typical fashion distractedly tapping the steering wheel and Teresa staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t ask or say anything. They drove for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. Dallas faded behind them, city lights growing faint in the rear-view mirror. They kept driving, deeper into the desert. Still they were silent. A while later — an hour, maybe two, he’d long since pulled off main roads — he pulled onto a dirt road and slowed to a stop. Teresa sat up taller, alert. He could see the worry hidden under her stoic expression.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, cutting the engine. He unbuckled his seat belt. “Come with me.”

He led her down the dusty road a short distance and then started crossing the dry grass. It was dark, very dark. She followed him cautiously. A hundred yards or so from the road, he stopped and she silently came up next to him.

“This,” said James, “is Camila’s graveyard.” They stood at the edge of a long, deep ditch. Though it was too dark to see much, the restlessness of the place was palpable, and even James shivered with uneasiness.

Teresa tensed and stared at him incredulously. “And you’re telling me you didn’t bring me here to kill me?”

“I brought you here to show you where you’ll end up if you run and she finds you.” He turned to her and gripped her shoulders, staring hard into her eyes. “Listen. You need to listen to me. She WILL find you. If you cross her, she will bring you down. Nothing matters to Camila more than loyalty, and she does not let go of grudges. Listen to me Teresa.” His eyes urgently locked hers, willing her to take him seriously. For a second he could have sworn she was surrendering but maybe he was wrong because--

“I don’t care,” Teresa retorted, shaking herself to try to lose his grasp. “So let her come after me. If she kills me I’ll be better off than I am now—her prisoner and slave.”

“If that’s how you really feel, perhaps I SHOULD just kill you now.” He pushed his words out through gritted teeth and in a quick motion he pulled his gun out from his holster and pointed it up under her rib cage. “I’ll make it quick—unlike Camila will.” He felt her heart pounding against the barrel of his gun. “Since the day you arrived, you have been dancing with death. Shall we just get it over with?” He could not disguise his bitterness.

In a motion as swift as his own had been, Teresa ducked, grabbed his gun, and turned it on him, slowly backing away. Her grip on the gun was steady, fierce. She stopped about five feet away from him, pointing the barrel unflinchingly at his chest. They stood there, frozen, glaring at each other. A chill breezed between them; a train horn sounded in the far distance. Check mate. James gently raised his hands. Then he took one cautious step, two, three, towards Teresa until the gun nuzzled his own rib cage. Their eyes remained locked. He slowly lowered his hand and grabbed the barrel, nodded reassuringly at her, eyes blazing, willing her to stand down.

But she didn't. She yanked the gun out of his hand and the CRACK of the gunshot was so enormous he landed instantly on the ground, _she shot me, where does it hurt, what was she thinking, I'm dying,_ his mind raced and heart pounded, until he realized he was unharmed, she hadn't shot him, he was fine, she'd just fired a warning shot. "Teresa, WHAT THE FUCK???" he shouted, stumbling to his feet. "What do you think you're doing? What is your problem?"

She still had the gun pointed at him but he was blazing with a fiery fury the likes of which he had never known, _so shoot me, I dare you, I don't care,_ and without thinking he found himself rushing towards her, overpowering her to embrace her, throwing the gun to the ground. He expected her to fight him but instead felt a startling wetness where he suddenly realized tears he hadn't seen were falling from her face to his chest; instead of kicks and punches she had wrapped herself around him and clung to him, her chest heaving. James held her, one arm embracing her shoulders and the other around her waist, as the fire of his fury shifted to a different kind of fire, an ache he had been trying to subdue for weeks.

Whether she felt his throbbing hardness, wrapped around him as she was, or whether she acted from her own impulse, James didn't know. Her breathing slowed and tears dried, she lifted her face and rested her forehead up against his chin. James's own breathing faltered and he lowered his face so his forehead now met hers, the air thick in the inch between them. The dampness of her breath teased his jaw and he fought to subdue an animal urge to consume her. He parted his lips slightly to lick them in a need to do something, anything, to quell his pounding heartbeat but instead he found her lips on his, her tongue soft and warm and probing in his mouth. Dizzy and unbalanced, he felt for the hemline of her shirt and slipped his hand beneath the fabric to gently meet the bare skin of her back. The feel of her skin under his hand was almost too much. He pulled away from her kiss and sank his head into her neck, stroking her back, letting his breathing pull him back into his body.

Teresa's hands found his hair, his neck, and she pulled him back to her mouth. She jumped just slightly to wrap her legs around James's waist, letting him lift and pull her into him. The uneasy energy of the grave ditch smothered them, pushed them together. Their kissing was heavy and insistent. With James holding her up in his embrace, Teresa's hands moved to her waistline and unbuttoned her jeans. She took one of James's arms from around her torso and guided his hand to her dark wetness. His breath caught; he had not expected this. He stroked a finger lightly along her slit as she held her breath and when he slid a finger inside her, lightly curled, she gasped slightly. He slid a second finger in to join the first and stroked his thumb gently along her clit. He found a rhythm of in, and out, press and curl, while continuing to apply the gentle pressure to her clit and he wasn't even aware of his remaining arm tiring from supporting her weight, or his own throbbing hardness; he couldn't imagine wanting anything more than this--her cunt, his hand, their heartbeats and heavy breaths--and existed in that moment just to give her what she needed.

She began to moan and pressed into him as he picked up speed, all traces of her usual wariness vanishing into a totally unselfconscious sexuality. It was almost as if she was not aware of him: it was not about him, he sensed; it was some physical and inexplicably emotional need she had that she was entrusting him with. He could feel her building arousal around his fingers: the wetness and openness of her cunt, the hardness of her clit. Her breathing grew more ragged and he danced around her clit; he could tell she was getting close to a release as she began thrusting her hips into his hand to meet his pumps. For a moment he removed his thumb from her clit and slowed down his pumping to explore, slowly and tortuously, her inside walls with his fingers and move almost imperceptibly around and in and out to tease her, just slightly. Her head, which had been arched back, fell forward to his shoulder; she turned her mouth to his ear and whispered weakly: "Fuck you James." 

James gulped. The sound of her saying his name--especially in the context in which she said it--almost caused him to drop her. Instead he slipped a third finger in and redoubled his fucking, pushing his thumb onto her clit again, until her breath staggered sharply and she finally squeezed and released and pulsed around his fingers. Her back where he held her was sweaty, she shook as she relaxed her grip around his waist and neck, and she raised her liquid eyes to his as she lowered herself to standing.

"Thank you," she said coolly, as if he were a barista who had just handed her a coffee in a coffee shop. She scanned her eyes meaningfully down his body, lingering at his crotch, and gave him a slight smile as she met his eyes again. He could've sworn she winked at him--but that wasn't possible, Teresa would never wink. James couldn't say anything as he watched her button herself up, bend down to retrieve the gun, and tread back to his car.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is rushed and way faster than is "realistic" for them. It's an interesting problem to deal with as someone writing fanfic for them. Obviously in my daydreaming world, I want them to have as much sex as possible. But the sexual tension that builds and builds between them for so long is a big part of it. So what to do about that? 
> 
> To me the way I can resolve that is by making it clear that Teresa is in control here and there is no communication with James about what's going on for her emotionally. She does what she wants for her own impervious and impenetrable reasons. He's left to sort of wonder where the heck he stands and try to figure her out from an emotional distance--which is true to the show's story arc. 
> 
> But WHY does she do this? How is this true to Teresa's character? I don't think that the character Teresa really had the capacity in Season 1 or even Season 2 to get emotionally involved with anyone, including James, nor do I think she was really that invested in him. I think she dimly recognized that he was attracted to her. And I think the messing with him a little (in this story and in the previous one and the ones that are still in my brain that I haven't written yet) is a way of continuing to level the playing field, claim her power and even reclaim her sexuality after her trauma in episode 1. It's a way to maybe help herself move on from Guero and experience herself as a more dominant person. And finally I love to think of her as a sexually embodied person--someone without a sense of shame about her sexuality and who is aware (if dimly) of her allure.


End file.
